


These are the jokes they make

by Hornet394



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Drugs, Dubious Morality, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Orphanage, Prostitution, Smoking, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 19:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13371336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hornet394/pseuds/Hornet394
Summary: Yifan's an orphan and a drug dealer, and Yixing is a prostitute and a drug dealer.





	These are the jokes they make

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theflyjar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflyjar/gifts).



> I originally wanted to do the Red Riding Hood!AU for Lo’s birthday, but then her birthday was like, in the middle of my exam period so that went to nothing welp. I then wanted to write a mafia AU but I ended up writing what I like to write and idk if this is what Lois wants to read but hahahaha 
> 
> Happy (belated) birthday Lois!! Thank you for always being there for me, I love you so much!
> 
> I never specified but Yixing is like, late 20s here.
> 
> The world is kinda hastily built and the ending is kinda like wtf is going on but i kinda ran out of steam like halfway so oops i guess i also chickened out of the smut hahahahaha
> 
> Unbetaed, unedited

“Yifan, do you know what the most lucrative business on the streets are now?"

“...Drugs?”

“Nope.” The older man sitting next to Yifan emphasizes the “p” sound, the movement of his full, plump lips drawing all of Yifan’s attention.

“It’s porn mags.”

This time, Yifan frowns, recognizing the mischevious twinkle in the other’s eyes.

“You’re pulling my leg, Yixing-ge.” The other’s smile widens, two dimples on display.

“Of course I am,” He laughs, using this opportunity to steal the last curry fish ball they were sharing with his fingers, than hazardously wipes them clean on Yifan’s blue school tie.

These are the jokes they make.

//

It was easier, Yifan discovered, to smuggle drugs than porn mags, but Yixing wasn’t exactly lying when he had said porn mags were lucrative. Most of Yifan’s regulars couldn’t really afford the drugs Yifan took in for them but everyone with a penis was willing to buy one, or perhaps a few magazines to pour over. In that way, it was safer for Yifan, too. He wouldn’t really have any goods left by the time the first bell rang, and even if he was caught with them, it would just be a detention and a call back to the orphanage which no one really cared about, and which Luhan would deflect easily.

Drugs were a whole different matter, but drugs meant that after Yifan gave his earnings to Luhan, he would have enough left to buy Yixing a nice gift. And maybe, proper condoms.

//

Oh, Yifan sees Yixing everyday. School starts at 8, and Yixing’s shift lets out at 7. They meet for breakfast at a convenience store, and Yixing gives Yifan the drugs he is going to sell. Yifan slips them into his art bag - if asked, he would just say they were art and craft supplies. (No one needed to know half the people in the art club buy his merch). Yixing would always tease him to go study, while he would laugh and say that no one studies at their school. And why would they? As one of the lowest ranked schools in the city, there hasn’t been a successful example in years. Triads, drugs, smoking, prostitution, the list goes on and on. Where do you think Yifan got most of his customers, hmm?

But meeting Yixing there is far from enough. What Yifan looks forward to is when its 11pm, the lights are dim and the music is loud, there is sweat and alcohol and nothing else. 

Yifan can’t afford Yixing most of the night. Yixing has a certain charm with the females, socialites caked under heavy make up, flabby, tired skin that is no longer attractive to their husbands, and they are very happy to buy his time and company.

But sometimes, in the rare times, Yifan gets to have Yixing straddling his lap, eyes sly and seductive as his beautiful fingers trace Yifan’s clavicle, his legs clad in sinful leather as he grinds into Yifan’s erection on the couch, and Yifan can only stare up at him in a daze. Hot breath ghost along his ears, and Yifan can only tighten his grip on Yixing’s waist as the older man sucks marks on his skin, reaffirming his ownership over Yifan again, and again.

The artificial lights of the room gives an illusion of privacy, but none of romanticism. Yet, Yixing kneels between Yifan’s legs, _thanking_ his precious _didi_ for the hard work he was doing, for the money he was bringing in.

Yixing always encouraged Yifan to pull at his hair, but Yifan never dared to really do so much. He did not dare even imagining to damage the other man, even though he knew both of them were already broken beyond repair.

Yixing plants a kiss at the tip of Yifan’s cock, before sinking down on him, enveloping him in impossible warmth.

The music of the club vibrates through the room, heavy, low thuds that travel up Yifan’s spine as little puffs of air escapes his mouth. Yixing’s fingers are cold as they circle his rim, and Yifan spreads his legs even further to accommodate the older man.

Yixing’s tongue darts into the slit of Yifan’s cock just as the first finger pushes in, just up to the first knuckle, testing the waters, and Yifan has to close his eyes and let his head fall back onto the back of the sofa.

Yixing plays him like a fine instrument.

The sofas are uncomfortably long, their dual purpose clear. It is there that Yixing coaxes Yifan to turn around onto all fours, just his trousers removed, his school shirt and tie still on him. It had been humiliating for him at first to be in this position, but he had done it for Yixing, and he had been rewarded with Yixing’s intimacy.

“My precious little _didi_ ,” Yixing cooed, hands framing Yifan’s ass, “What a good boy, always saving up to come see me.” Then there is a hot moistness against Yifan’s entrance as Yixing’s tongue breaches the rim, lewd, salacious sounds ringing loudly in Yifan’s ears as the older man eats him out, savouring him like a delicacy.

Yifan’s fingers dig into the leather of the sofa as the first cry leaves his lips, pushing the shame into the back of his head as he loses himself to the sensations. Yixing’s fingers wrap tightly around Yifan’s thighs, pushing the younger man’s body back onto his lips and tongue.

Then it stops, but there is something cold and plastic pressing against his entrance. Yifan turns to look around, frightened, and Yixing has a white packet in his hands, a coy smile on his face as he pretends to attempt to stick it up Yifan’s ass.

“G- Gege, I can explain,” Yifan swallows, getting up to try and take his cigarettes back, but then Yixing’s hand is on the back of Yifan’s neck, pushing him face down onto the sofa.

“Yifan, I told you not to touch the merchandise.” Yixing’s voice is a low hiss. There is no anger in it, just faint amusement, but Yifan shivers all the same. He is no child, he’s already 16, he’s earned money that most people could only dream of having at his age. He detests the way Yixing sometimes lords over him, like he is a kid who doesn’t know anything, like he needs hand-holding every step of his life.

Yifan has seen things many adults have not yet seen, yet Yixing would not even let him touch a cigarette.

But if it is attention he gets, but if it is attention from Yixing he gets, he’ll lap it all up.

//

When Yixing returns with a lighter, Yifan knows he has screwed up. “I know these are expensive, so I’m not going to waste all of them, even though I want to.” Yixing hums in explanation, “Still, Yifan, I _am_ disappointed in you.”

Yifan ducks his head, trying to hide his burning face from the older man’s eyes. It’s only in front of Yixing that he always feels so tiny, so insignificant, so humiliated. Like he is worth little.

A hard, small thing is pushed into his entrance, and Yifan’s blood turns cold when he can easily identify it as one of the cigarette sticks, embedded deeper and deeper.

“I told you not to do cigs.” Yixing is still speaking, his voice distant, “I told you these things are bad for your health, it’s bad for your money. You shouldn’t be wasting your money and youth on these things. Now you’re doing smokes, in the future you’re going to do drugs, then prostitutes, and I’ll find you waiting for death in a prison bed.”

Then there is the click of the lighter, and Yifan’s cry is not one of pleasure.

He can taste his own fear, pooling in his mouth, the taste of blood and sweat. It is the wrong kind of heat that is nearing his skin, he doesn’t dare move, but his thighs are trembling with effort.

The smell of nicotine wafts through the air but it’s wrong, all wrong, and Yixing blows the cigarette out.

But as soon as he does so, another kind of fiery pain erupts on Yifan’s left asscheek, a loud sound that, for an instance, cancels out the heavy music filtering through the walls. The shame colours through Yifan’s entire body, and he bites his lips to stop the angry tears from falling.

“Didi,” Yixing cooes, seemingly oblivious of the effect he has on Yifan as he takes the cigarette stick out, “listen to your gege next time, okay?”

Then something much hotter, much harder is pressed against his entrance.

The first thrust always hurts, but what follows are gentle, soothing praises, the feeling of being overwhelmed, pulled under, floating on clouds, and Yifan drowns in it.

//

Police tape surrounds the orphanage when he gets back, and a police officer looks up from a clipboard and approaches him. “You’re Wu Yifan, right?” She asks sternly, and he nods, uncertain. Her eyes are steely at the smell of smoke and alcohol that lingers on him. Then she looks back at the orphanage and her eyes soften slightly.

He’s given 10 minutes to pack, and then he gets directed onto a bus. His roommate, Zitao, beckons to him from the back, and he goes and sits down next to Zitao. The bus starts then, it seems they were all waiting for him. It’s a while till sunrise, so the roads are illuminated eerily.

“Where are we headed?” He murmurs and Zitao yawns sleepily. “Luhan got busted.” The other boy explains nonchalantly, “We’re back into the system.”

Yifan leans back in realization, thankful that Yixing had took his cigs away and there was no other merchandise on him or in his bag. It was going to be a long journey, he muses. New places, new money, new people.

Zitao has already dozed off next to him, his eyes dropping onto Yifan’s shoulder. Yifan’s finger twitches, aching for a smoke.

But he can wait. Regardless of where he goes, Yifan has always found a way. In retrospect, perhaps he shouldn’t have given most of his money to Yixing last night, but Yifan had always been one to be able to recover from setbacks easily.

Closing his eyes, he starts making a mental list of all his previous suppliers, before Luhan had taken him in and monopolized his operations. Get that sorted, and he could find new distractions to give money to in the new city he was going to.

Yifan falls asleep with a smile on his face.


End file.
